Mithrin V: Those Whose Names Change
by Geale
Summary: An interlude that follows "Feeling You". In his father's halls in Mirkwood, Legolas learns what has long been hidden. Legolas/Aragorn assumed.


**The story: **An interlude, the fifth part in the Mithrin series and the sequel to "Feeling You".

**Timeline: **This takes place in the Third Age (III) 2951, in the same year as the rebuilding of Barad-dûr (The Dark Tower) commences on the plateau of Gorgoroth in Mordor. Now Aragorn has turned 20 and come of age. Only a few months have passed since Legolas visited Imladris and there, with Aragorn's help conquered his own darkness.

**Warnings: **This is an Aragorn/Legolas pairing. There is no explicit slash but the feelings are there nonetheless!

**Disclaimer: **Master Tolkien, who owns this, I love you.

Enjoy!

**Those Whose Names Change**

**The darkened realm of Mirkwood, Coirë, III 2951**

There is a crack in the smooth stone floor. My eyes have followed it, travelled upwards and downwards, along its length for many long minutes now. Occasionally I turn my eyes away, but every time I look again, I somehow expect to find it has changed. It is not so.

Is it not wondrous, Estel, that everything around me is perfectly still while my heart is spinning and twirling in an endless dance of joy?

Elbereth knows I miss you! She does… I have told her so each morn and eve, ever since I left your home in the midst of the swirling snowflakes. Surely she must be bored of my ranting now… Still, ever and anon, I tell her of my heart's desire: I wish to see you again – soon!

Spring is reluctant to arrive this year. Words brought to us from the South speak of milder winds heading towards the northern lands, but so far we have not seen many of those. The brave buds are frostbitten in the mornings and the birds more silent than usual. If the weather is no different in Imladris, you must be at loss in the gardens for I expect the ground will not soften even at your touch.

I… Estel… Is it wrong of me to wish for your presence not only in daytime but also at night? It seems my body cannot forget your closeness. It longs for you and… I am slightly ashamed for you should know that my breathing quickens when I think of your arm wound around my waist, and your breath warming my neck.

And I wish to draw you closer, and kiss you as you are lying there, so securely pressed against me.

I once told your brothers I am no unenlightened elfling, but _meleth nin_, this is new to me. Now simple knowledge melts into a desire to experience and you are so far away. Yet, I would not know how to proceed, and forgive me! Have I the right to think thusly of you?

The night we spent together was so short – and what memories are created while we sleep? I would have stayed awake watching your sleeping form, but the Gods would not have it so. Too exhausted to keep myself from drifting, I lost myself in dreams and when dawn came, all was over.

Nearly.

_Adar_ has asked me often enough why I smile blissfully in the strangest of moments. But I suspect he would not welcome my account of your dark, tousled locks gleaming in the wintry sunlight, or the rise of colour in your cheeks when realisation dawned on you and you found you still hugged me close.

Nor would he much welcome my account of the kiss we shared that morning. Not because I think he would begrudge me it, but simply because he is not ready yet.

Then you and I parted: you for your own room and I for my home.

And the winter lingered.

"Hah!"

My eyes shoot up from the floor and I must blink before I can focus them properly on _adar. _Seated behind his enormous desk, King Thranduil of Mirkwood, is reading through the letters he received this morning and for some inconceivable reason he has asked me to join him. Now his eyes are shining and he bangs a fist against the wooden surface. His face carries a peculiar expression of triumph mingled with surprise and… cunning?

"Hah!" he cries again. "I should have known it!"

As is best, I refrain from saying anything until I know better of what he refers to.

"Indeed, I _did_ know, in my heart! But now this letter confirms it." He waves a delicate piece of parchment in the air before him and his piercing blue gaze settles on me.

"_Adar?"_

I straighten in my cushioned chair and try to concentrate on what has apparently come to my father's knowledge. It is not that matters of state do not interest me, but with fondness I blame you, Estel, for my straying thoughts.

"I knew it," he repeats, nodding contentedly. "But now Elrond finally comes clean. He knew I knew of course, but it is politics, politics, _ion._" He eyes the letter once more. "And more than that perhaps."

At the mentioning of the Lord of Imladris, _adar _catches more of my attention.

"Lord Elrond sent you word?"

Thranduil chuckles. "He did indeed, Legolas! He did indeed… Well, it is no surprise, as he has been aiding them 'in secret' for centuries – and I mean _centuries_ – but still I only suspected, I never enquired."

I give a sigh which I hope passes unnoticed. When he wishes it, the King of these halls can truly shroud the simplest of facts in the dark veils of mystery.

"What says he? Is all well in the Valley?"

A look of surprise briefly crosses his face as if he has not thought of the possibility that anything might be amiss."I expect so … The Half-elven says not the contrary at least." He turns over the parchment and searches it without interest. "No, all is well it seems."

The tiny tingle of anxiety that momentarily threatened the happiness that enfolds me of late disappears and I lean back again.

"Does he speak of his family?" My question is innocent enough, but my father is not inattentive.

"Of his sons he says not much… They are out with the Rangers, hunting Orcs, I assume." Before I have the time to even begin to wonder if you are among them, he laughs loudly and suddenly. "The Rangers! Imagine _that_, _ion_! Rangers…" He shakes his head, amused, and he chuckles still.

"_Adar?"_

Then, with the speed of a lark's wings, his whole expression changes and his eyes narrow.

"Tell me, Legolas, during your visits to Imladris… Did you ever happen to see that human ward of Elrond's?"

My breath leaves me and I must fight to recapture it.

"Estel?"

Thranduil's lips curve into a wry smile. "You would know him by that name, yes. Did you ever meet him?"

But my thoughts will not go further beyond the implication in his words.

"I know him by that name," I say, nodding.

Deep, deep down inside me there is a sting of something cold and unwelcome but I choose to ignore it.

"Did you ever meet him?" There is a hint of command now in his voice and it is clear he wants a satisfactory reply.

"I did," I acknowledge, and immediately my mind is filled with images of you. There is your rare grin, and that sparkle in your grey eyes. Your hand is touching mine as the snow creates a world of perfect white, and I know that I am smiling.

"You know him, then?"

I drag my eyes away from you and swallow. "I… do." I do know you, Estel. A small part of you anyway and I cannot wait to discover more.

"Hmm…" Thranduil picks up another piece of parchment and now there is an unsettling gleam in his eyes. "I hope you are but acquainted," he says slowly, "one should never trust those humans. And this one… hah! Only a boy he is, yes?"

The cold sting slides its icy fingers through my body and I shift in my chair. No, my father has never been fond of humans, but I will not listen to him speak of you with anything less than the highest regard.

"He is twenty," I say proudly for even if the winter turned late this year, your birthday lies behind us. I regret I was not with you on that day, but I am resolved to celebrate it when I see you again.

"Twenty!" _adar _spits, turning the word into a curse. "That is nothing!"

I rise to my feet and my voice is fiercer than I intended. "For a Man it–," I stop mid-sentence for Thranduil is not pleased with me.

"Age equals intelligence, Legolas! And this _boy, _this youngling of Elrond's is expected to exhibit a rather high level of intelligence. To think that we are putting the fate of Middle-earth in the hands of a human! It is folly! But so I have already told Elrond – on more than one occasion." He snorts and slams the parchments down upon the desk.

I stand as if frozen. Sharp claws are greedily rasping my breast, reaching for my heart. I cannot see the logic in his words. Why would you be more concerned with the fate of our part of Arda than anyone else?

"Of what do you speak, _adar_?" There is a hint of uncertainty in my voice: it wavers just a little. "Why should we be dependent on Estel?"

"Yes, why indeed?" Thranduil cries. Then his sudden anger is quenched by some unknown force and his voice drops to a hiss. "_That_ is a question I have asked myself more than once. Why put our faith in a human?"

_What is this?_

My hands are trembling at my sides but I can find no task for them to carry out. All I have is my confusion and my fervent wish that _adar _might explain this horrid riddle.

"Please," I try again, "tell me why Estel should–"

"'Estel'! Hah!" He grimaces. "Oh no my son, from now on you shall have to think of him differently." A strange, sly smile grows in his features as he sits back in his chair. "Henceforth you shall know him as 'Aragorn' heir of Elendil. Weak, I suppose, as Isildur himself was." He nods excruciatingly slowly as I feel the floor dissolve beneath my feet. "'Aragorn', what do you say, Legolas, does it not have a… splendid ring to it?"

'_Aragorn'?_

I stagger backwards, nearly falling into my chair but managing to stay on my feet. The walls of the royal, underground Palace are spinning, and my stomach turns over.

_You are Estel._

_Are you not?_

"But, he is…?" I stare desperately at_ adar _through a growing haze that will dim my vision and blind me if I cannot break through it.

"He is Aragorn of the Dúnedain," Thranduil says simply and he cannot know how much pain his words cause. "The heir of Númenor and the…" he pauses as if he feels pain himself, "the rightful King of Gondor in the East and Arnor in the North."

His icy blue eyes are shining with some kind of dissatisfaction. "Put differently, he is the _hope _of Middle-earth and the one who must conquer the Darkness and its Lord."

_Estel?_

_But you are… Estel. _

_You are the blooming athelas of the Spring, and the rain-dampened groves of Autumn. You are the snowfall of Winter. _

_Are you not?_

While the claws greedily scrape against my chest to rob me of my every breath, I force myself to speak.

"I must see him."

Thranduil snorts. "And why is that?"

"I must see him. I must go to Imladris."

Within me there is only this one, burning, knowledge, nothing else.

"You will do no such thing. The roads are not safe and you are needed here." There is an underlying threat in his voice and yet he speaks calmly.

But by the time I have stocked the saddle bags with only the basic provisions and have drawn my cloak around me, he is yelling.

As the thunder of Êl's hooves reverberates in the courtyard I hear shouting and sharp commands stab the air. The pace at which I am riding is both reckless and dangerous, but the image of your face is haunting my soul.

Whither am I riding?

That I know, but to whom, I know not.

**Fin**

**Translations:**

Coirë - the Quenya name for early spring

_meleth nin_ - my love (Sindarin)

_ion_ - son (Sindarin)

_adar_ - father (Sindarin)


End file.
